WBY - Gone
by wildblueyonder6
Summary: John Winchester is a small town sheriff, doing his best to keep his town and his kids safe. Being a sheriff is hard, being a sheriff and a hunter is harder. To make it worse, Sam just can't seem to follow the rules and now his life is is in jeopardy. Will Sam make it out of the clutches of some supernatural baddy? Read and find out! Warning: There will be parental spanking.


Title: WBY – Gone

Author: Wildblueyonder6

Pairings: None

Characters: Sam, Dean and John Winchester

Type of spanking: Parental Discipline

Implement: Belt

For the prompt: Hostage/Suspense

Summary: John Winchester is a small town sheriff, doing his best to keep his town and his kids safe. Being a sheriff is hard, being a sheriff and a hunter is harder. To make it worse, Sam just can't seem to follow the rules and now his life is in jeopardy. Will Sam make it out of the clutches of some supernatural baddy? Read and find out! Warning: There will be parental spanking - don't read if you don't like.

John loosened the tie at his throat. He hated ties, but occasionally, as the Sheriff, he had to show up in full dress. He'd much rather wear his day-to-day uniform or, hell, even a pair of jeans. Today was a meeting with the mayor. The man was a moron and an idiot, but he was the mayor. Sometimes John wished he were just a street grunt; no responsibilities but issuing tickets and pulling cats from trees.

But a beat cop probably wouldn't know what he knew and certainly wouldn't be able to keep his town safe from the creepy crawlies that lived out here.

His cell phone rang, his private line, "Excuse me, sir. I have to take this."

Sam. Damn him and his inability to follow orders. John hadn't been tough enough, mean enough or maybe just hadn't smacked his butt enough to make the kid realize that orders were important.

Really important.

Look where they stood now. Sam gone. Dean losing his mind and John losing his temper.

He was going to kill him. Kill him dead. Revive him then kill him again.

It was dark under the hood. Darker than anything Sam ever knew. There was always some way to see something. Then again, when he, Dean and Dad were hunting a troll in a natural cave in Utah, he could hardly see anything without his flashlight. Dad had insisted they keep it off so they wouldn't overplay their hand.

He tried to think back. What did he do then? He remembered smelling dampness around him, feeling the comforting brush of Dad's body, being able to touch the surface of the wall to help guide him. Maybe that was his problem; there was no single point of reference, nothing he could even hear that would let him know where he was.

_Think, Sam._

He was seated on the floor, in what was probably a large room. He had started to come to when they brought him in and if his memory was right, he heard the squeak of door hinges and then he was just deposited on the ground.

Since then he'd heard nothing. No whispered voices. No sounds at all. But then again, he'd been in and out, so even if there had been something he might not have been aware of it.

His cheek had been cold when he had levered himself up from the floor to a sitting position. It was also scuffed, as if it was concrete below him. That made sense. His head hurt like a sonofabitch. He couldn't reach his hands up to feel, but he was sure he had an egg-sized lump on the back of his head. He also felt the tightness of dried blood as his movements cracked the congealed mess in his hair and down his neck. Blood wasn't good, but the fact that he still wasn't leaking body fluid was a plus.

His hands and feet were tied, but it felt like rope, not nylon wrist restraints. That was good. Really good rope was hard to get out of, but it could be done. It was harder with nylon wrist restraints. He'd take handcuffs any day to them.

He tried to focus on his boots. He still had them on so maybe his knife was there. Could they be stupid enough to leave it? So far, whoever they were, they were pretty good. He could barely feel his feet in his boots, so tight were the ropes binding him. He concentrated on what the silver blade felt like, how it should feel against his calf. Warm from his body heat and nestled against his calf.

It was there. Hard to distinguish between his numb feet, his throbbing head and the unending pain in his shoulders and hands, but it was there.

They left his knife? That was stupid. Why would they do that? A hunter wouldn't, especially if they knew he was a hunter too. A monster might. If the monster was stupid, and there were plenty of stupid monsters. But why would a stupid monster cover his head in a black shroud, carry him to a concrete room and leave him there? He would just eat him, right? Or kill him? Or suck out his kidneys or whatever a monster might do.

That meant it was probably not an "it" but a person.

That was almost scarier. Monsters usually had a lore associated with them or some type of a pattern. People? There was no rhyme or reason to what a person might do. Why would a person who wasn't a hunter grab him? There were very few hunters that Sam knew, but he did know his father knew more than he did and anyone who knew Sheriff John Winchester knew that kidnapping one of his kids was going to result in a horrific death. Still, hunters weren't known to be the most stable of individuals.

Dumb monster with an accomplice? That was a possibility, but it didn't seem likely. Dumb monsters didn't work with accomplices. That's why they were dumb monsters in the first place.

His suspect list was pretty low.

Sam shook his muddled head and instantly regretted it. There was a crescendo of pain, blinding white and hot.

Sam could feel himself starting to fade out again. Then there was nothing but dark; darker than the blackness that enveloped him in the hood and then the feel of concrete against his head.

John paced. He hated pacing. It was stupid and non-productive. He had long ripped the tie from his neck. He was still wearing the rest of his uniform though.

"DEAN! " he barked far harsher than he meant to.

Dean jumped, literally jumped to his feet. He had been sitting on the kitchen chair with his head in his hands.

"Tell me again what you know."

"I dropped him off at the library. You know geek boy and libraries! He went in the library. I watched him. He said I should pick him up at three. I was there by two thirty, 'cause you called and said we should get home. I went in to get him and the librarian said that he came in, waited ten minutes or so then left. She knows him, Dad. He freakin' lives there. She said he said something about meeting a friend, but I never heard about that. He said he was researching the hunt coming up. I don't know who he met or why he lied about it. But he wasn't at the library.

I was so pissed. But where could he go? This town is the size of an ass pimple, so I checked the pizza place, the movies, I drove around. Nothing." Dean ran his hand over his face, frustration flooded across him like a tidal wave.

"Then what, Dean?"

"I called you!"

John pointed a finger at Dean. "Watch your tone with me, boy."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I just…I don't know where he is…I don't have an idea. I can't believe the little shit lied to me. Lied to ME! Christ, I would have let him hang out with a friend. You know, if he'd told me."

Just then the phone rang. John looked at Dean and Dean looked at John. It was his private cell again. No one had the number. Well, almost no one. Bobby? Jim? Sam?

John reached for it. "Winchester."

"I have your boy."

"If you hurt one hair on his head, I will kill you." John growled low into the phone frustrated at only have a phone in his hand not someone to punch.

"Ah, John. So violent. So like you though, huh? Always with the killing and the threats. You always thought you were a bad sonofabitch. Your kid thinks he is too, but he's not. He's pretty fragile really. "

John turned away from Dean, his voice low and like crushed glass. "I don't know who you are, but if you know who I am then you know I'm a man of my word."

"Oh, I'm quite sure you mean what you say. But then again, John, I do too. I want to meet you tonight. Are you familiar with the vacant house at the end of Melrose? Of course you are. This is your town right? Tonight…at the stroke of twelve. Sounds kind of diabolical doesn't it? Keep that in mind when you arrive. Don't bring Dean. This is between you and me. Don't bother with any of your little deputies either. We wouldn't want complete carnage would we? That would be so messy and really so very unnecessary. I am, however, quite prepared to oblige you with any complications that may arise if you feel the need for indiscretion. "

There was a click and John was left holding his cell.

Sam was much better at this than Dean and John was worthless. Oh, he understood the concept easy enough, but he had people to do this stuff. Or Sam. Tracing the cell phone required using triangulation - by taking two or more readings, it is possible to calculate where the signal is coming from by working out the triangle that fits the signal strengths. The third point should be the location of the phone.

It was dependent on cell towers and such, and their town, while certainly having cell phone coverage, was not exactly AT&amp;T central. It could only put him in the general vicinity of the caller and of course, the caller could be nowhere near Sam. He doubted Sam was at the vacant house. It would be too easy for John find him before midnight.

Dean was working on the calculations quickly, one chewed pencil in his mouth, another scrawling on a piece of paper.

"Got it," Dean said with just a hint of triumph in his voice. He held out the slip of paper and it's coordinates, then he and John grabbed a map and they traced it out old school with a bright red Sharpie.

"You stay here, " John said.

"No way, Dad. You need back up."

"He said alone, Dean."

"Well, that was for the meeting tonight, not now. "

"I'm not bringing you into this unless I have to and right now I don't. So you stay."

John left in the Jeep without a second glance.

Sam woke again, his head pounding even louder than before. Pounding wasn't even a good adjective, but it was all he could think of at the moment.

Cell phone? Did he have his cell?

It would be in his right front jean pocket, but it wasn't there, he couldn't feel the familiar shape against his upper thigh. Damn. Dad wouldn't be able to GPS him.

So the idiot took his cell phone, but left his knife?

Dumb ass.

John glanced in his rear view mirror just to make sure Dean wasn't following in the Impala.

He better not be.

Still, Dean had a reckless edge when it came to Sam.

He looked at the map briefly on the passenger seat. He knew where he was going. It was a warehouse district not too far out of town. Far enough that screams wouldn't be heard, close enough to Melrose that whatever asshole had his kid would be able to make the drive without too much problem.

He thought of the man. His voice had been cultured with a slight accent that John couldn't trace. Brit maybe? Welsh? But a long time gone from home. John could be wrong. He wasn't a linguist, but there was more than a feeling that the guy wasn't native.

Who had he pissed off from England?

He couldn't think of anyone at the moment. He was a small town sheriff who hunted things that hunted his town. He'd never set foot out of the States.

Their town wasn't a vacation destination for anyone, let alone someone from another country.

The only really non-native person was Mac, a Scot who lived on a small farm just on the edge of town, but he was a good man and the only disagreement he and John had ever had was over Scotch or Jack Daniels.

John reviewed the plan in his head.

Scope out the warehouses, find a likely one and use every ounce of hunter wiles and sheriff smarts to find his kid. He already contacted the station and had his deputies running through surveillance videos, most of the area had been pretty covered with cameras. So far he hadn't heard anything from the office, but he really wasn't depending on it. He couldn't be sure that Sam was there, but it was as good a place as any to start. It would mean parking far enough away that he wouldn't be noticed and hoofing it in. He'd gotten rid of his uniform. It was perfect for woods and official duty, but this was clearly a time for stealth. He was all in black, so it would be easier to slink around a warehouse.

He looked at the coordinates one more time before leaving the Jeep. Then started in.

John was good at recon. He'd been good in the Marines and had only gotten better as a hunter. Of course, recon when it was your kid involved, amped up the need for stealth and speed.

It also cut through the bullshit quicker than a hot knife through butter. Observation was hard wired in him; it was half of what police work was all about. Hunting too, really. All of the warehouses were possibilities, but there was one that didn't have a light out front, as if it had been disconnected or shot out.

Kids had been known to shoot a light once in a while, but if they had why not all of them?

No, it was dark for a reason.

Sam swiveled his head toward the door as it was opening. The movement caused a swirl of nausea and a tidal wave of pain. He had been carefully working out the knots that tied his hands together. Cutting through them would have been easy, but his knife was still out of reach. Still, he managed to loosen them enough to give him some wiggle room. He kept them still though and didn't move. If he could just get the knife!

"Ah, Samuel, I see you are up and about. Don't worry. Your daddy and I are going to negotiate your release and hopefully you will be back home with your family."

"Fuck you," Sam said, his voice raspy from disuse as if his vocal cords had been severed as neatly as the head off a vamp.

"Of course, things could change drastically and for a plethora of reasons. You could simply die of asphyxiation or perhaps from that concussion you must have. This could happen at any time."

The voice was well modulated and no one Sam knew. But he couldn't really trust his brain. Thinking was like a crossword puzzle. There were bits and pieces he could recognize, but there were blank spaces too and the jumble was too hard for him to decipher.

"What do you want?"

"Sam, why must there always be an ulterior motive? You are but a pawn in this game. With little value other than to get your father to admit to the error of his ways.

You see, Sam – your father has recklessly pursued my kind for years. Just like all hunters have done. I should be reconciled with the fact by now, but I am not. Up until recently, he has managed to stay off my radar, but recent events have thrown him, and unfortunately you, into the spotlight so to speak."

"What are you?" Sam's voice was low and foreign.

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that retribution is mine."

"For what?"

"Now, I wouldn't want to give it all away, would I? Then again, there is little you can do to me, little I am concerned about. Beheading me is unlikely in your present state. You can barely speak and I doubt that there is a saber hidden in your pocket. No, my little friend, I am quite safe."

Sam felt the man crouch down in front of him and repulsion hit him in waves as undead hands traveled down his shoulders and then hips. A vamp.

"I've done quite a good job tying you up. It does make you rather inaccessible though. "

Sam shivered then as the hand stroked his crotch.

"Oh, so vamping yourself up turned you pervy too?"

"Silly boy. I have always had a natural inclination for defiling young boys. I simply have more opportunity now. It's amazing how easy it is to grab an unsuspecting boy when you move in the night like I do."

"Speaking of which, how'd you nab me at the library in the middle of the afternoon?" Sam asked but didn't really care. Keeping the vamp talking allowed him to work on the ropes a little more and it would hopefully keep pervy hands off his junk.

If he could get his hands out, he could cut through his leg bindings. Get the damn bag off of his head so he could see. If he could see, he might be able to find a way out of this.

Sam wasn't foolish enough to think his little silver blade could slice through the vamp's neck quick enough though.

And of course there was Dad. He knew Sam was kidnapped and was planning to meet the vamp tonight. Where? Here? Sam doubted it. The man wouldn't be dumb enough for that.

"There are ways, sweet boy, for us to travel in the day. Not all are well known, even by my kind, but suffice it to say, I have found a way around that little obstacle. Much like I think I shall do with these leg bindings. Again, you are trussed up quite nicely. I like restraints as much as the next man, but like this? Well, you and I won't be able to enjoy ourselves."

"What makes you think I'll enjoy anything?" Sam asked fiddling with the rope on his hands. "Besides, I can't see a damn thing."

"Oh, so you like to watch?" The vamp's voiced dropped low and husky.

"Maybe."

"So, does Daddy Winchester know of your interest in playing the whole field?"

Sam tried a halfhearted shrug, but his shoulder muscles wouldn't respond to his brain.

There was a quick movement and the light suddenly flooded into Sam's head, blinding white, and again nausea swept through him like a live thing. He closed his eyes to the overstimulation almost gasping with the pain. He wanted to drop his head back to the blessedly cold concrete.

"Why, Sam – you are quite the nice looking boy, huh?"

Sam grimaced, doubting he looked good at all. He knew there was the dried blood on the back of his head and if he looked even a quarter as bad as he felt then he looked like shit.

"You obviously don't have the best taste," Sam commented, opening his eyes to take in his captor.

The man was slender with hair dark but graying at the temples. Probably as old as his father. Well, probably considerably older, but that was how he looked. He had the fair skin of a man who, despite his ability to at least come out during the day, did his damnedest to avoid sunlight if possible.

He looked…dead. Except for his eyes. They were a brilliant icy blue. Odd to see in such a pale face. He also was handsome, in a dead kind of way. Not that Sam really thought he was hot, but he had to give the dude some credit.

"So, Sam, for the price of some fun, I will release your feet."

"Why ask? I can't do much about it anyway."

"True, but an active participant is much more entertaining. Even if the participation is less than consensual. "

"Consensual? You do realize I'm only fifteen. There is no consensual when you are fifteen."

"Perhaps not in your world, but I have found that if you live long enough you realize that different cultures and eras have different thoughts on the age of consent. If you were a girl in 18th century Scotland, you might already be married."

"Well, it's a good thing this isn't 18th century Scotland and that I'm not a girl." Despite Sam's attempt at banter, his words were slurred and he struggled to get them out. It took all of his effort just to follow the vamp's train of thought.

"Do you have a name?" Sam asked suddenly wondering.

"Geoffrey – my last name is irrelevant."

Geoffrey reached down between Sam's legs, trailing long fingers down the inseam of his jeans until they reached the rope. He tugged on the rope, pulling at the knots with expertise that Sam didn't like in the least.

It was only a moment before the rope was undone from around his ankles. He wished he could say there was instant feeling in his feet, but they had been bound too long. He was happy he was wearing his boots, though. They kind of protected his ankles from deep rope burns.

He'd almost managed the ropes behind his hand and although he still couldn't see how his deadly, but not terribly long silver knife could hack through the neck of the vamp, he had to try. If he hit him hard and strong enough he might be able to manage half of it. It wouldn't kill him, but it might slow him down. Three or four deep slashes might do the trick but he didn't know, in fact he doubted it. Perhaps the added sexual excitement might be Geoffrey's downfall? The trouble was, Sam wasn't

too happy to continue down that trail. Still, sex versus death was really a no brainer.

It was just a matter of getting Geoffrey fired up enough to let his guard down.

It might work.

Geoffrey smiled allowing his fangs to descend. He almost purred cat-like and reached up to Sam's face, caressing him from temple to throat. He stopped there at his carotid, then leaned over and licked and nuzzled the spot, breathing hard and inhaling Sam's scent.

"So delicious…you smell of boy and blood. Such a delightful combination. "

Sam shivered again and shoved the bile down his throat.

He felt his hands pull out of their restraints, but he didn't move, simply flexing them trying to get the circulation moving again. They felt like pins and needles, but he expected that was just the blood trying to move sluggishly back into his extremities. He welcomed the pain. It helped clear his head.

Sam let himself arch into the Geoffrey's mouth. It was a chancy move. Between his pulsing neck and the blood drying on his head he figured it might be hard for Geoffrey to control himself.

In fact, it was something he was counting on.

Sam didn't have super hearing or extra keen eyesight, but he could tell he was getting to Geoffrey. Maybe it was the way his fangs skimmed along Sam's neck. They didn't break the skin, but his breath was icy cold on Sam's neck. It was a strange feeling.

Going on instinct, he tried to nuzzle open Geoffrey's shirt. Geoffrey moaned and reached his hand again for Sam's fly. Sam allowed it, taking the opportunity to move a hand to his boot.

The feel of silver, warmed by his own body heat, felt oh so good.

His hand curled around the haft of the knife just as the door to the warehouse opened with a bang.

"Get down!" John Winchester's voice reverberated in the hollowed shell of the warehouse.

Sam dove instantly, pulling himself out of the range of fire and dropping to the concrete.

In a moment it was over. John Winchester swung his axe with lightening quick speed, severing Geoffrey from his head in one broad sweep. Arterial blood spurted in a graceful arch over and around Sam.

Sam lay not inches from Geoffrey's head. He watched the brilliant blue eyes glaze over to cataract gray.

"Sam," John said, kneeling next to him, touching his body all over. Gentle triage, checking to see that Sam was really in one piece.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, his body shaking with adrenaline. "Just cold."

John took off his black leather jacket and wrapped it securely around Sam.

"Did he hurt you? Touch you?"

"Yes, and yes, but I'm okay. Really. I just want to get home."

John helped Sam to his feet, curling his arm around his shoulders. Sam couldn't stop the shaking, but wasn't sure if it was truly cold or if it was the post adrenaline thing. Or the vampire head thing. Or maybe just the copious amounts of vamp blood that was congealing to his clothes.

Sam wasn't afraid of blood, or cold or vamps really. Well, he was afraid a little bit of vampires, but that was normal…being afraid of dying was expected. Probably some type of shock or something. But it felt comforting to have his father's arm around him and the warmth of Dad's body melting into his.

"Let's get you to the hospital son. I want somebody official to take a look at that noggin of yours. "

"I can't go like this!" Sam shook his head and regretted it instantly, but he pulled the blood soaked shirt from his chest.

"There's a change of clothes in the car. Just make it quick – the sooner you get checked out, the sooner we can get home. And son, you are so grounded. Until you are not grounded anymore, but then you and I are going to have a serious discussion about lying. Do not think for one moment that a concussion is going to save you in the long run for this little stunt."

"No, sir. I didn't it would."

Sam was probably the only kid in the world who wanted to stay grounded. The longer he was grounded, the longer he could avoid the inevitable "real" punishment. Besides as groundings went, this one was pretty good. He could watch TV from the couch, granted even watching TV for the first week gave him blinding headaches. Dean and Dad waited on him, making sure he was comfortable and that he had pain meds when he needed it. Sam didn't think for one moment that their concern and care in any way would save his ass when he was feeling better.

He had managed to piss off his entire family in one grand swoop of stupidity. Grant you, his family was pretty small, but having both Dad and Dean mad at him was not a typical event in the Winchester home. Usually Dean was on his side, but in this case he was obviously not.

Sam couldn't blame either one, but it didn't decrease his anxiety.

Now that he was saved from Geoffrey - all he had to be saved from was his father. Sam wondered briefly if maybe being turned into a vampire or becoming his sexual plaything was really all that bad?

John waited until Sam's check up at the doctor's. He was given a clean bill of health and told to stay away from well hit, line drive baseballs while goofing around at the ballpark, a convenient and blatantly obvious lie, but a necessary one. It wouldn't do for the doctor to know there were or at least _was _a vampire in the town proper. John did his best to keep the supernatural stuff away from his town and that meant dispatching it before it became a problem. Or in this case, became a problem due to his stupid son.

When Sam had been coherent enough to understand the scolding, John had ripped him a new one verbally. Then went over why it was prudent not to lie to your brother – and, by proxy, your father.

Sam showed the necessary contriteness and remorse, but it did nothing to deter John's thoughts on giving the boy a sound licking for his misbehavior. Not only had he lied, but also he had put himself in jeopardy in a way that John could not just let go.

Sam knew it as well as John. Dean too for that matter. There were some things in the Winchester household that a firm scolding could handle. Some a grounding, some a quick cuff to the head, some extra chores or PT. But lying was something John couldn't tolerate.

It was non-negotiable.

As a single parent, he needed to know that his boys were where they said they would be. As a cop, it made the need worse. As a hunter worse still. While he could forgive a forgotten curfew or another minor indiscretion, a bald-faced lie was another thing entirely. Sam had_ lied_ to Dean. Told him he was going to the library, then left said library as soon as the coast was clear. His only defense had been that he "wanted to get away."

John wasn't sure if that was a lie too, which just made him even surer that he was going to whack some Winchester ass when he got off shift today.

Sam waited nervously in the living room. Dad had said they would "talk" today. Talking in Winchester speak meant getting your ass kicked. Sometimes there was no euphemism – just the sound of ass getting spanked. Sometimes a talk was just a talk, but Sam knew that was not the case today.

He was fine. No headache. No blurry vision. Nothing to stop the ass beating he was going to get. Dean had been told to get lost by Dad and Dean had readily gotten lost. Dean never liked to be around when Sam got punished. Mostly, they were both getting it together because if Sam was involved in something spank worthy, Dean often was too. But this time it was all on Sam and Dean wanted nothing to do with it.

He did tell him as he left that he deserved every lick.

That gave Sam some food for thought because if Dean was still angry, then Dad was probably angrier.

Angry wasn't really the word though. More like, determined. Determined to make sure that Sam didn't lie again and in John Winchester's world that meant a spanking. It was annoying to Sam, even if he understood and realized he knew that by lying about the library, this could be the outcome. Even the word "spanking" irritated Sam. It made him feel like a little kid. But John Winchester's spankings were not for little children. Oh, when Sam had been six and done something – it was a spanking in the traditional sense - over the lap, bare butt and hand to butt for a brief flurry of hand spanks. But as he had gotten older his father had used a belt.

Not often though. Spankings had been few and far between in the past years.

Sam knew the rules. Dad didn't have to enforce them.

If only Sam hadn't been dumb enough to leave the library!

The front door opened and John Winchester walked in looking a little tired after a day at the office. Of course, the _office_ for a sheriff was not often an office and when it was, it involved tons of paperwork and his dad never liked shuffling papers. So either he had been inundated with paperwork and that had him tired, or he had been inundated with some other sheriffy thing that had him tired. Sam couldn't begin to hope that the tired would prevent the butt whipping though. In fact, just thinking about the tiring shit he did during the day might rev up the piss offedness to make the whacking worse.

"How was your day?" Sam asked as pleasantly as possible.

"Long. And stupid," Dad grunted as he unhooked his service holster and carried both it and his gun into the study. He motioned for Sam to follow him in and Sam followed slowly.

Dad walked behind his desk, opened the drawer and carefully placed his gun in it then hung the holster on a coat rack conveniently placed in the corner of his study.

"Sam, can you tell me why you are getting punished?" Dad started out quickly, as if he wanted to get the whole thing over with.

"For lying, Dad. But I am sorry. I had no idea 'bout Geoffrey and all that stuff. I would have never…"

"Exactly Sam. You would have never put yourself in that situation – you are far too smart for that. But because you lied about where you were, and what you were doing, you made yourself a target."

"Well, Dad, I didn't know there was a vampire around!"

"True, and neither did I, but the possibility is always there. And with me as the Sheriff, it's even worse. Sometimes people, or in this case, non-people, want to get even with me. If anyone knows me at all they know that getting even with me through you is a perfect way to do it. That's why you are as trained as you are and that's why I have rules that you need to follow. Not only you, but Dean too. Hell, my deputies need to keep me apprised of their whereabouts. We live in troubling times, Sam, and anything could happen to anybody. I can't have you being kidnapped, sexually molested and almost killed by a vampire!" Dad's voice rose at the last sentence, the well-modulated explanation of why Sam needed to do what was expected of him lost when he actually articulated the words of what had happened.

"Well, I wasn't really molested, Dad. Just, well…groped."

"So because that thing didn't actually have penetrative sex with you, you weren't molested?"

"Penetrative sex! Dad, just ewwe and no and gross!"

"Jesus, Sam. Didn't you think that was a possibility? He was a fucking vampire. Do you think he had some code of ethics that he followed regarding young boys?"

It was then that Sam thought back on Geoffrey's words that night. How he liked young boys and had every opportunity to do what he wished with them at any time he wished it. It was something he hadn't shared with his father and he had no intention of doing so now. Still, thinking about it now was scary. At the time, Sam had just been encouraging Geoffrey - talking to hear himself talk. That and buy some time to get out of Dodge.

Geoffrey's death had been a godsend. Not just for Sam, but for a multitude of potential victims. His death hadn't helped the kids who had been raped by the vamp before, but at least there would be no more of them to suffer at his hands.

"But Dad, it was the middle of the day. How could I even anticipate a vampire grabbing me!"

"It's not for you to anticipate. It is for you to follow orders."

"Dad! Seriously? You always tell us to anticipate! If not, then why do we train as hard as we do? Why are Dean and I always working out and sparring? You want us to be ready for anything, but a vampire in the middle of the day? Even you wouldn't have expected that."

His father sighed. "Okay, so I may not have known that a vampire would grab you outside of a library and truthfully, you may not have known it either. But that isn't the reason you are getting punished. You are being punished because you were outside of the library in the first place! You convinced Dean to drop you off at the library under false pretenses. You waited for him to leave and then went off on your own without telling Dean or myself where you were going. You had it all planned ahead of time - using the library as an excuse to go out on your own. Damn it, Sam. Because you lied to us, you put yourself in a horribly, dangerous situation. It could have all been avoided if you hadn't lied in the first place."

Sam dropped his head and studied his boots. It was all true.

Dad dropped his hands to his belt, unbuckling and unthreading it through the belt hoops.

"Let's get on with this."

Sam unbuckled his own belt and dropped his jeans without being asked. He slid his boxers down as well. His father was pretty much old school about bare butts getting whacked. As far as he was concerned, spankings were always bare assed. Sam offered a questioning brow to his father and Dad nodded to the big desk that took up much of the study. He positioned himself over the desk and then waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

The belt whistled through the air. Or at least that's how Sam heard it. Then he heard himself yell. It surprised him. It had been a while since he'd had his ass handed to him and while he remembered the last time distinctly, he didn't remember yelling at the first whack.

"DAD! Give me a break! You're killing me here!"

"Hardly," came the dry reply.

Another smack of leather on ass and Sam howled, trying to scramble over the desk out of the way of the deluge of leather on his butt. His father simply reached over and pinned Sam to the desk with his left hand, but continued to wield his belt with his right.

His father's belt was old and worn and supple and he used almost as if it was an extension of him. Which it kind of was. Sam had never seen his father without the belt, except if they were running in sweats. Then it was neatly coiled on his dresser awaiting re-threading to jeans or uniform. But it was that very malleability that made it lethal to someone's ass. It tagged his right hip with unerring accuracy and then his left. All the while the leather kept scorching his rear end. Sam wasn't sure if it was his father's aim or the belt itself.

If seemed like a life thing, sparking fire along each long lick. Sam stopped howling and started crying. Real crying, like a little baby. Then sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he wailed in between sobs.

His father laid down two more scorching licks to Sam's tender backside and then stopped.

Sam panted, and laid his head on the desk, he felt rather than saw a hanky handed to him. He accepted it without a word, wiping his eyes and then blowing snot into it. Good, let Dad wash this hanky out! Other than that he didn't move.

He didn't want to move. He didn't think he could move. He tried to regulate his breathing but it was impossible. Each breath was a ragged gasp followed by a hiccup. It was embarrassing.

Then his father was beside him, handing him soft cotton sleep pants. Sam understood he was to put them on, but that required moving and he didn't feel he could do it quite yet.

"When you are ready, son," Dad said softly and left them across the desk and then left the room.

John really, really hating licking his kids. He hated it almost more than anything. But Sam had to know how important his safety was. How important _he _was. If that meant spanking his ass every now and then John would do it. Maybe not gladly do it, but out of duty and a sense of responsibility for his son, he would. That and love. Which might have seemed contradictory, but it wasn't. Loving someone so much that you were willing to cause them pain to save them…well, it was something that not everyone agreed upon, but in John's experience, it worked.

Boys needed clearly drawn boundaries. Yes, those boundaries could be negotiated, but that was before they chose to step outside of the lines. Some might think John mean, or cruel. He wasn't at all. Cruel would have been to allow Sam to continue thinking he could call the shots when he was in no position to do so. Mean would have been allowing him to get away with something that could and did endanger his life. Sam and Dean were far too precious for John to allow that to happen.

It didn't mean that he had to enjoy it.

John knew Sam would remember this licking. Really remember it and that had to happen.

Sam could hate him, or curse him but in the long run, he would thank him. Maybe not today or even next month, but eventually he would understand. At least John hoped so.

When John had been a boy, he had been spanked too and far more often for things less important. It seemed so at the time anyway.

He remembered once getting it for riding the cows and getting them so riled up they wouldn't milk for a week.

He remembered another time for almost setting the barn on fire. That had been a whipping of monumental proportions.

Once he'd gotten it for racing the old John Deere with the Hawkins boys. That had been great fun until he'd taken out a good portion of the fence line when the cantankerous tractor wouldn't stop. Not only had his father warmed John's butt, but Dad had also tanned the Hawkins boys' asses too. John remembered that Eli Hawkins hadn't said a word when he got the phone call to pick up his boys, but he had been swatting them both as he marched them across the field to pick up their tractor.

John knew for a fact they'd both gotten it again when they got home.

All of those lickings had been given without malice or hatred, but with intention. The farm was their home and their livelihood. Without milk, they couldn't survive. Without a barn, they couldn't house their livestock. Fencing was expensive. Not only did John have to repair the fence he had rammed, but he had to do it with his ass on fire and his father watching. It made an impression on him then and it did now. To his father, and John supposed to his entire family, the stupid stunts he pulled for the sake of fun could and did cost the family money.

It wasn't monetary issues that John would spank his boys for. That wasn't a priority as far as he was concerned. John had a steady income and a good job. They would never be rich, but they lived comfortably. But if either of his boys put themselves in danger? That was something that John could not abide.

Which is why he trained them so hard, pushed back when they pushed and made damn sure they understood that there was no wiggle room when it came to personal safety.

If he hadn't been a sheriff, maybe he would see things differently. They say that cops' kids always have it tough. But he was also a hunter too, and that put an even harsher spin on the situation.

No, he was right to do what he did. John didn't second-guess himself at all. He would talk to the boy in a bit, once Sam had settled down. That was the best he could do.

Sam lay belly down in his room. He wasn't sure if he was still grounded, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going anywhere that required walking for a day or so and sitting down wasn't happening for at least a week.

Out of curiosity, he had examined his ass in the mirror. It was red and striped with the few white pale areas glaring around the belt licks. His father was a damn professional when it came to kicking ass. There were welts and a few bruises but no bleeding. Sam really thought the bruises were mostly from him fighting to get out of the way. His muscles hurt, his skin hurt and he dreaded getting a shower because he knew the spray would re-ignite the fire that still burned.

Oh, he was not going to forget this one any time soon.

Which, Sam had to admit, had been his father's objective all along.

There was a soft rap at the door. Sam didn't want company, but he was sure it was Dad and he didn't want to piss him off any more.

Sam berated himself – his father wouldn't spank him for not opening the door. In fact, his father wouldn't come in unless Sam said so.

Usually.

He suspected if his dad thought he was doing something stupid, he might just barge in, but that wasn't his style.

"Come in," Sam said.

"How are you doing, Sam?" his father asked, oddly concerned since he was the one who had pulverized his ass.

"Wonderful, Dad. Just peachy." Sam levered himself off the bed with a groan.

"Sarcasm so quickly after getting your ass handed to you?"

"Dad, sarcasm is hardwired in me. It is my main defense."

Dad shook his head, "Nooo, your brain is your main defense. If you would use it, we would all be feeling a lot better right now. C'mon Sam, did you think that this wouldn't turn out badly from the get go?"

"Well, I wasn't expecting to be kidnapped by a sun-loving vampire, Dad."

"No, and I can't expect you to. But I do expect you to pay attention to me. To follow the rules I have set down, because if you can't, I can't do my job. I can't do what I was hired to do if I'm worrying about you all the time."

"Dad, I'm fifteen! I should be allowed out on my own."

"Obviously not, Sam."

"Well, that was a freaky thing, not a normal thing."

"Haven't you noticed freaky is normal in this town?"

Sam sighed, "I get your point."

"I was hoping you got it earlier."

"I did…" Sam back peddled a bit because he did not want a do-over of the last hour. "It's just…I need some time to myself, some time to be a kid."

His father gently curled an arm over his shoulders. "Sammy, I wish you could just be a kid, but you can't. As hunters we know what is out there. _You _know what is out there. Keeping you safe is my main priority, more than being a sheriff, more than being a hunter. But I am Sheriff and I am a hunter and you are a cop's son as well as a hunter's son. I have to be able to trust you and right now, I'm not so sure I do."

Sam dropped his head into his father's embrace. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to…" Sam trailed off unable to complete the sentence over the lump in his throat.

"I know, Sam, I know. Let's just put this behind us okay? But that being said, I don't want you to forget either."

Sam grinned. "Oh, no need to worry about that. I think I'll be remembering today for quite a long while. "

"Good. Mission accomplished." His father's smiled mirrored Sam's own.

"Thanks, Dad. For understanding. Not so much for the lickin' but you know, I got it."

"There's m'boy." His dad ruffled his hair, something that usually irritated Sam, but now it felt right.

"Can your brother come in? He's been prowling the house waiting for an invite."

"Yeah, sure."

Dean peeked his head into Sam's room. "You alive in there?"

"Barely."

Dean stepped into the door, then, hip to door jam, he folded his arms.

"What were you thinking about Sam?"

"Please, Dean. I don't want another lecture. Or worse."

"No lecture here, Sammy. But if you pull something like that again I will smack your butt – either before of after Dad does. Seriously, kid…I mean it."

"I got it. You love me. You don't want me eaten by vampires."

"Nah, I just don't wanna be stuck with all of Dad's research."

"I love you too, jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam just grinned. Some things never changed.

End.


End file.
